


Dear Sherlock

by Detective_Sammy



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Past Character Death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-27
Updated: 2012-12-31
Packaged: 2017-11-22 16:00:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/611611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Detective_Sammy/pseuds/Detective_Sammy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John's therapist suggests writing a series of letters to finally say goodbye to the detective.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Letter One

Sherlock,

This is silly, but I thought I’d try it. My therapist thinks it’s a good idea to write a letter of goodbye since I can’t seem to let you go. Silly, isn’t it? I don’t see how writing this out is going to make let you go, but… it did take me two weeks to even muster the courage to grab the paper, so I guess it’s progress.

I’m sitting here in Baker’s Street. Our flat. Not everyone still refers to it as such though. It’s become John’s flat. John’s home. Just John. I don’t like the thought. No, I hate it, actually. Why? Because I built this place with you. Just because you… left doesn’t mean it’s any less yours. I hate that people don’t seem to remember that you were ever here in the first place.

I didn’t make it to your funeral. That cop I punched made sure that I was locked up. Your brother tried to pull a few strings to at least let me make it to the burial, but it didn’t work. The approval came a day too late and I ended up spending the day in isolation after I punched the sodding lawyer that came to alert me. The request was formally denied after that incident.

When I finally did get to see your grave, the grass had grown over you already. I guess that’s what grass does. Just because I was locked away for eighteen months doesn’t mean the world was put on hold for me. There wasn’t any fresh earth. It was compacted over you. No more flowers from admirers. Mrs. Hudson had said it had been bare for the last several months. It’s really amazes me, some people. They can go from loving you to hating you so quickly. It took many of them less than a week to turn their backs on you.

It’s been over three years, and here I am. Stupidly rooting your name. It doesn’t matter to me that no one listens anymore. I’d stand on the tallest building and scream until I was hoarse if it didn’t get me tossed into an asylum. I don’t really want to get locked up again for you.  ~~But if you asked me to, I would in a heartbeat. All you have to do is ask. Can you ask me? For anything? Please.~~

Wow, this letter is a little harder to write than I thought it would. But then again, everything about you was difficult. Body parts in the freezer? Acting like a petulant child because you were bored? Running off and putting yourself in danger for the thrill of it? Sometimes it seemed that I cared more about your life than you did. I guess that came along with being as smart as you were. I bet that was hard. Seeing everyone around as stupid, brainless beings? I’d drive me mad too. Not that you were mad. No, you weren’t. You were brilliant. But brilliance had a harder time shining when there’s mud all around.

I sound so bitter. I’m sorry. I guess this is just how I feel now. I’m nowhere near as clever as you  ~~are~~  were, but I can see the world for what it really is. Dumb people ready to believe the easiest to chew story. No one knows you as I did. I was privileged to have known you as I did. You didn’t let me in all the way, but I know that you let me in as much as you could. I’m still thankful for that.

And here I am. I have a lot of regrets too. I don’t want to fill the letter with them, but here are a few that I just need to get off of my chest. Why didn’t you tell me, Sherlock? Why did you die alone? They said Moriarty killed himself and then you jumped. Why kill yourself if he was already dead? The only thing I could think of… Well, there are two things.

One, you couldn’t see yourself alive anymore without his distraction. God, I really hope it wasn’t this. He killed himself so… you followed because you didn’t think you’d find anything as good ever again? That would hurt me more than anything and sometimes I’m afraid that it was true.

But then there’s number two. The one that gives me hope and helps me sleep at night. I know there was always more to Moriarty than it seemed. That he had a trick up his sleeve no matter where he went. He forced you to jump off the ledge. Even after he was dead, you had to. He promised that he would kill you. I remember standing around the edge of the pool, that bomb strapped to my chest and even then, he was threatening that he would kill you one day. He destroyed your legacy and he pushed you off of that building, I don’t care what anyone else would say.

The only thing I don’t get was… our phone conversation. Why did you lie to me, Sherlock? Why did you tell me all those awful things? Why did you want me to believe them? You knew that I wouldn’t swallow that mess. Why? Because you let me in as much as you did. I know you better than most people, save for your brother. I know that you were brilliant and clever, and, even though you denied it, you are a hero. You’re mine. And I can’t let you go.

But at the end of the day, you were only human too. You didn’t fly into the sun to escape your danger and you didn’t fly down and rescue me. I don’t hate you for that because I know you’ve saved me more times than the both of us realize. I’m greedy for expecting you to always be there for me. Maybe that’s why I miss you so much. I haven’t anyone to save me in a long time. Maybe I’m just a damsel-in-distress without a white knight.

I think that’s all for this letter. Doctor said it may take more than one. I’m exhausted. This time I won’t pull down the second cup before I put it back. I’m getting better. It’s just a longer road to recovery than I expected. After all, I did have that limp until someone pointed out that it was all in my head. Maybe I just need someone else to prove to me that this is all in my head too.

John.


	2. Letter 2

Sherlock,

I wrote you a week ago and probably wouldn’t have written you again, but last night I had another dream with you in. Annoying dreams.

In this one, this world we lived in had a strange holiday where people who ~~commited suici~~ have left us come back for a day, but at price that they have to leave the same way they left before. You came back to see me. I was so happy. We talked for hours. You told me how boring the afterlife was. You said that you missed Baker Street. We didn’t talk about your regrets even though I could tell that you wanted to. I was so glad that you spared me When it came time for you to leave, I followed you to the top of St. Bart’s. You asked me to push you. You couldn’t leave again on your own. I climbed up beside you and wrapped my arms around you and we jumped together.

Do you know how many times that I’ve been to the top of St. Bart’s since you left? Only a handful. I’ve stood as close to the ledge as I could and imagined seeing you fall. I wanted to grab you every time. I’d reach out and pull you back and yell at how dumb you are. But you’re never there.

I’ve always wondered what it would be like to fall like that. When I first got back to Baker Street once I was released, I’d stand on the foot of my bed. I’d hold my arms out, just like you did, and fall forward. It was never as far of a fall as the one you took though.  It gave me an idea though. It was a hell of a thing, that fall. You saw the ground coming toward you so fast. This feels a bit sick to say, but you were so brave to do it.

I don’t see the point in these letters. You aren’t going to get them. It’s me working on my own issues. I could do that in my head, not on paper. Three years is a long time to mourn for a person, Sherlock. You’re so greedy to be taking up all of my time. Well, not all of it. A nurse at the hospital asked me to tea. Her name is Mary. You probably would’ve told me everything about her from looking at her, but I’ll have to settle for the old fashioned way of just asking questions. She seems nice enough.

I found your old violin today. You know, I was surprised that Mycroft didn’t take more of your things. He wanted your violin, but I wouldn’t let him have it. I liked know that it was in your room. I went in there and pulled it out of your closet. Mycroft doesn’t play, so why should he have it? I suppose I don’t play either. Maybe I’ll take up lessons. I’ll never be as good as you, but I can’t possibly be all that bad.

I guess it’s all about moving on. I still haven’t let another person take your room. I can hardly afford the rent on my own, but I can’t bear the thought of getting rid of all of your things and letting someone else stay in your room.  I can’t handle that you left me the way you did. You just left me alone, you asshole. You tossed everything aside.

I’m not going to take the violin lessons. I’m going to give it to Mycroft the next time I see him. I’ve got to stop letting control my life. You’re rotting in the ground and your memory is controlling me. I’ve got to break free of you, Sherlock. I can’t do this anymore.

John.


End file.
